Prince, Pauper, and Playwright
by Yank
Summary: What if Cinderella wasn't a domestic diva, but a domestic dumbass? Furthermore, what if she was actually smart? What would that mean for her and Prince So-Called-Charming? Rated T because my smart!Cinderella's quite foulmouthed.  R&R, please :D


Prince, Pauper, and Playwright; or Cinderella, Reimagined

"_CINDERELLA!_"

"Oh, _shit!_" I muttered. "What did I forget this time?"

My step-bitch (oops, I meant stepmother. Of _course_ I meant stepmother) screeched from the dining room, "What on _earth_ did you do with these potato slices?"

I moaned and scurried out to the dining room, where my step-sluts (whoopsie, I _totally _meant stepsisters) were picking primly at their beef-and-cheese casserole. Step-Bitch was ramrod-straight in her chair – never a good sign – and she had an absolutely murderous look on her face.

"These potato slices are charred," she informed me in a dangerously level voice. "And there aren't enough of them."

"Wait, there aren't enough? I used the rest of the potatoes! I put them in the oven so they weren't touching each other, exactly like you said! They stayed in the oven for twenty minutes, just like you ordered!" I protested. Seriously, what the _hell_ could I have done wrong?

"You're supposed to make twice this many," snapped Step-Bitch. "That's why they're burnt."

Oh. Goddammit. "What do you want me to do about it?" I couldn't keep a sullen edge out of my voice.

Step-Bitch sighed impatiently. "Well, it's a bit late for you to make more," she said, as if that were such a great mercy. "But next time, there's _no _excuse."

"I figured as much," I muttered as I turned toward the kitchen.

"_What_ was that, Cindy?"

I stopped in my tracks and cringed. That bitch may not have been my mother, but she had the Mom Gasp down _pat_. "Yes, ma'am," I mumbled as I dashed back to the kitchen.

Once in the kitchen, I clenched both my fists.

"Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck," I whispered as I shuffled over to the counter and started cleaning up the kitchen. "I _hate_ it when she does that."

I got the kitchen cleaned up in record time (probably missed a spot of salt on the counter or something equally stupid, though) and tugged my book out of the flour cupboard. _Hamlet_, by Shakespeare. God, that man was amazing. I doubted anyone would ever be able to match his writing, character development, or plots, let alone all three. It was simply _superb._ I had just started _Hamlet_ yesterday, and already I was on Act III, Scene 2. I wanted so badly to go see a live performance of the play. Damned if I could escape Step-Bitch long enough, though.

I was just to the part where Claudius stops the play when I heard a rap at the window. After starting and dropping my book (_damn damn damn_), I scurried to the window and opened it a foot (that's all I could manage without it creaking like a bastard).

As I had expected, Stephen was waiting for me. Stephen was the neighbors' stable boy, and really my only friend in this dump of a town. The family he worked for owned the private (AKA rich people only) library, so he was able to smuggle me books on a regular basis.

He grinned as he saw the book on the floor. "I take it I startled you then. I do hope that floor's clean."

I couldn't help but laugh – softly, because Step-Bitch had ears better than a cat's. "If there's one thing I know how to do around here, it's clean the floors."

"How far have you gotten today?" he asked, his sky-blue eyes sparkling.

"This morning I finished Act II and started Act III," I replied. "I just got to the part where Claudius stopped the play."

"It gets better," he promised. "So what play do you want next?"

"Um…" I had to think about that for a second. "What's a good one?"

"Well, considering that we're talking about Will Shakespeare here," he joked, "everything's good. _A Midsummer Night's Dream_ and _King Lear,_ on the other hand, are great. Those are just the plays I've read lately, though."

I was intrigued. "What's _King Lear_ about?"

"An aging king and his three daughters. I don't want to spoil it."

"That's the one."

"So sure?"

"I'm in a dark, tragic mood right now. For some odd, perverse reason, reading tragedy always helps."

"What is it this time?" Stephen asked sympathetically.

"Oh, apparently I didn't bake enough potato slices or something, and they ended up burned." I rolled my eyes. "Stupid shit like that."

"Did you remember to say yes, ma'am?" he chuckled.

"Nope. Forgot again."

"Good Lord, Cinders, I think Hamlet's attitude is getting to you. Maybe I should give you _A Midsummer Night's Dream_ instead of _King Lear_ next," Stephen teased. "Or maybe a Bible."

I shuddered. "Oh please no."

He smiled. "You know I'm just joking."

We were silent for a few seconds. I tried not to listen to the gluttonous laughter of Step-Bitch and the step-sluts. My stomach growled obnoxiously in response.

Stephen heard. "That was a big one. Any hope of getting dinner tonight?"

"I wish," I snorted. "Judging by how long it's been since Step-Bitch's called me, I'd say I'll be lucky to get a crumb of beef tonight."

A lightbulb seemed to flicker on over Stephen's head. "Hang on a second. I'll run and fetch you some bread from the stable. I got a fresh loaf at the market today."

"Oh, you don't have to," I instantly demurred. "I'll survive."

He gave me _that_ look, the don't-be-a-martyr look that I saw so much from him. "I'll be back in two minutes, tops," he promised as he ducked below the windowsill.

I opened my mouth, maybe to thank him, maybe to insist that I didn't need food, but he was gone before the words reached my tongue. "Thanks," I whispered anyway, smiling slightly. He was always doing little things like that for me – getting me food, lending me books, helping me sweep up whatever I had broken. He'd saved my ass more times than I could count.

"CINDERELLA! WE'RE DONE EATING! GET THE DISHES!"

Step-Bitch's voice broke into my thoughts and instantly dispelled the warm feeling that had been rising in my chest. "Fucking _seriously?_ Why in the holy everliving _hell_ does she have to scream it every single goddamn time? Can't she just talk like a fucking _normal_ person?" I griped under my breath as I stalked out of the kitchen to clear the table. Step-Bitch and the step-sluts had retired to the parlor when I got to the dining room. "They don't even have the fucking decency to put their own shitty dishes in the sink! The sink's exactly _five fucking feet away_, and they're apparently unable to put their fucking dishes in it! Dammit, dammit, god-fucking-_dammit!_"

I continued my curse-laden rant until all the dishes were piled in the sink. "Shit, man, I need a fucking break," I groaned as I collapsed in the kitchen chair again. My stomach growled again, louder this time. "Shut the fuck up," I snapped at it. "I don't need your fucking opinion." There was another knock at the window just then. With an almighty curse, I pulled myself upright and stumbled to the window, where Stephen was waiting with two slices of buttered bread.

"You're an angel, did you know that?" I mumbled as I stuffed a whole slice in my mouth and chewed it faster than you could say Horatio. Stephen tried to pass off his goofy smile as a yawn, but the blush creeping up his neck was obvious. "Seriously, thanks so much for this," I continued as I gnawed on the second slice.

"Anytime," he replied, grinning. "I mean it."

I grinned in return.

"Cinders?" Stephen said hesitantly.

He wasn't normally this shy-sounding. "Yeah?"

"Cinders… I-"

Then – horror of horrors – I heard Step-Bitch on the other side of the kitchen door.

"Cinderella, I don't hear the water running…"

"Shit!" I hissed, spraying crumbs all over the place. "Hide. Now." Stephen didn't argue. We'd been through this too many times. As he disappeared beneath the windowsill, I swallowed the whole slice of bread in one gulp and slid _Hamlet_ back into the flour cupboard. I was halfway to the sink, my hand already reaching for the pump, when Step-Bitch burst in.

"You haven't even started the dishes yet?" she exclaimed. "What on _earth_ have you been doing?"

"I, uh, I was just… um…" Normally I could think of an excellent excuse for not having started/finished something, but today my lying brain was vacationing in the countryside.

And just like that, Step-Bitch slapped me.

As I gingerly touched my stinging cheek, Step-Bitch went on the biggest rant of her sorry life. "You are the most insolent, ungrateful, lazy, incompetent child I have ever encountered in my _life_!" And more of the same. I'd heard it all before, but never at that volume and rarely all at once.

Step-Bitch was getting red in the face. "…If I hadn't promised your father that I'd care for you, I'd have turned you out years ago!"

That was it.

That was the last straw.

I snapped.

I stood up straight, looked her right in her piggy eyes, and said menacingly, "You don't have to turn me out. You never fucking cared for me in the first place. And guess what? I'm done putting up with all your bullshit. I'm out of here. You can clean up your own motherfucking messes from now on. Good-fucking-_bye._" Step-Bitch watched, jaw dangling, as I ripped off my apron, got _Hamlet_ out of the flour cupboard, and stomped out of the kitchen. I marched into the hallway, right past the step-sluts (who were giggling over a mutual crush – some perverted asshole whose name I didn't know and didn't particularly care about), and straight out the door. I left that wretched house with my head held high, and I didn't look back until two hours later, when I reached the main road.

By then, my rumbling stomach was getting to me again. I sat on a rock to catch my breath and get my bearings. "Where can I go from here?" I wondered aloud.

Suddenly, the clippity-clop of a galloping horse startled me. I turned around, expecting to see some cloaked traveler hunched over his steed – but instead I saw a man, who couldn't have been more than five years older than me, dressed in that annoying pseudo-military garb that royal people wear.

"Holy shit," I whispered. "Is that some royal-ass dude or something?"

Just then, the man on the horse saw me – and stopped his horse. He climbed down, sauntered over to me, and bowed deeply.

"O poor maiden, wherefore art thou alone?"

I just stared at him. "What in the _fuck_ did you just say?"

The man looked puzzled. "Such a comely lass as thee shouldst not be a lonely wayfarer."

"Who the fuck _are _you? And why the flying _fuck_ are you talking in pseudo-Shakespeare?" I demanded.

"Ah, a pox on my ill manners. I have naught shrift for my personage. I, dear lady, am Prince Charming." He bowed even deeper. I honestly hadn't thought that was possible.

I realized with a jolt that this was the step-sluts' mutual crush. _Oh, if they saw me now, they'd go absolutely apeshit._ "What the fuck? Who the hell names their kid Charming, seriously?"

He ignored me. "My cherished lady-"

"Whoa whoa whoa, back your shit the fuck up, Prince. We literally just met thirty seconds ago."

"I shall never see a face more divine, or more deserving of lauds, than thine. Your eyes send me into honest rapture. Your absolute lips are red as the sunset in autumn. Your figure-"

"Whoa, wait. Just. One. Fucking. Second. What the _hell_ are you saying? Could you _please_ get to the fucking _point_?"

"I fancy thee, fair maiden," answered Charming, looking vaguely annoyed. "I beg of thee, accept this rose as a token of my eternal devotion." And what do you know, he pulled a rose out of his saddle bag and offered it to me.

My eyebrow was inching further up by the second. "You keep a goddamned _rose_ in your fucking _saddle bag?_ Sorry, but that just _screams_ desperate to me."

"My dear one, why must you be so testy? I am yours forever. We shall be wed, you will live in my castle, and-" he glanced at my dirty-ass frock – "you'll never have to clean anything ever again."

Now _that_ was tempting. "So you're looking for a wife?" I stalled.

"Indeed. I have been tasked with that very duty, in order that a royal heir shall be born and rule this glorious kingdom when I can no longer perform that duty."

I only heard two words out of that entire fucking speech. "Wait. Wait a second. What do you mean, _royal heir?_"

Charming looked at me as if I were stupid. "A royal child. My child. _Our_ child." He reached for my hand.

"What? _Our_ child?" It was official – Prince Charming had no fucking _idea_ how to pick up a girl. "Fuck, no," I said as I backed away from Very-Not-Charming. "I'm not marrying a shithead who talks about having kids two minutes into the first date. Fucking _no._"

Charming started to protest, but another voice interrupted him.

"Cinders! There you are!"

"Stephen?" I whirled around and saw Stephen running full-tilt toward me.

"I heard that you walked out. Your stepmother was crowing it to the whole street. Have I ever told you that you walk really fast?" He finally noticed Charming. "Who the hell is this?"

Charming said, "Who art thou, vile knave? I am Prince Charming, heir to this kingdom!"

At the same time, I said, "Oh, just some fuckhead who doesn't know how to pick up a chick worth shit."

Stephen burst into laughter. "I like your explanation much better, Cinders. Anyway… I came to tell you something."

The warmth returned to my general chest cavity all of a sudden. "Go ahead," I said softly.

Stephen cleared his throat a couple of times before continuing. "Cinderella… I love you. I've loved you since the day you first asked for a book. I know I don't have much more than you did, and unfortunately I can't hire a maid, but I can promise that I'll treat you far better than any stepmother or prince out there." Charming looked insulted, but Stephen soldiered on. "Cinders… come with me."

I could barely put into words what was happening to me. My brain was short-circuited beyond the capacity for rational thought. My heart was suddenly thumping a mile a minute. That warmth had not only flooded my ribcage and all that it contained, but it had also taken over my body in general. I felt goosebumps prickle on my arms. I wasn't sure, but I had a feeling that they were the good kind. I had never felt anything like this before.

Finally, I figured out what it was.

For the first time in a long time, I felt loved.

As soon as I wrested control of my voice back from the happy tears that threatened to choke it, I whispered, "Stephen, I… I think I love you too."

And so help me God, even the bright-as-fuck late afternoon sun had nothing on Stephen's smile in that moment.

He reached for my hand. I clutched it tightly, and he beamed.

"So…" he began.

I couldn't keep the goofy smile off my face as I answered, "Yeah?"

He squeezed my hand. "What do you think about the role of women in _Hamlet_?"

I smiled hugely. _This_ was more like it. "Well, Gertrude's pretty vapid," I replied as we started to meander down the lane, towards the setting sun. "Ophelia has a bit of potential. She did have that little verbal smackdown with Laertes in Act I."

"Honestly, that reminded me of you," he laughed. "When I read that line, I heard it in your voice."

"You're joking!"

"No, I'm not."

From behind us, Prince Charming called, "Fair maiden, return to me! Return, I beg you! O, woe is me…"

Stephen and I exchanged a mischievous glance and snickered.

"Sucker," I said.

"Agreed."

"What are your thoughts on Ophelia?"

He paused. "Well, I've read the whole play, so if I said anything, I'd probably spoil a lot."

"Oh my God, don't do that! Now you just made me curious."

"Read the damn play then, Cinders."

I groaned. "Fine, fine."

"Say, how does a cup of tea sound to you?"

"Fantastic."

And we walked off into the sunset together, discussing Hamlet, Ophelia, Shakespeare, and tea. I'm pleased to report that although we didn't always live happily ever after, our story had a far better ending than Hamlet and Ophelia's. If you ask me, though, Hamlet brought it all on himself. He was just bat-shit _insane._

THE END


End file.
